


A Better Way to Say GoodBye

by ladyofdragons



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Being thankful for what we have, Caretaking, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Face-Sitting, Homemaking, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Reunions, Spark Sexual Interfacing (Transformers), Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Support, Terminal Illnesses, Transformers: Lost Light 25, Wakes & Funerals, sweet and catty smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:54:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21623344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofdragons/pseuds/ladyofdragons
Summary: A look at one way Drift and Ratchet's life on New Cybertron might have developed, and another way Ratchet's funeral could have gone. Drift focuses on being grateful, Ratchet focuses on Drift.
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock & Rodimus, Drift | Deadlock/Ratchet
Comments: 10
Kudos: 56





	A Better Way to Say GoodBye

**Author's Note:**

> Having nearly lost my life partner of 25 years this past spring due to an unexpected stroke, and gaining the resulting knowledge of a condition that could lead to heart failure if not corrected, the way in which one of my beloved TF ships ended in Lost Light holds special relatedable significance I can't even begin to describe. 
> 
> This Thanksgiving, I am grateful every day that we are still here, still pushing through treatment, and that our future is bright where as Ratchet's was not so much. This little fic is a spur of the moment thing as I am overwhelmed with that gratitude, and holds a certain amount of a catharsis as I try to spin a brighter picture of the end of Drift and Ratchet's lives together (it never really ends as long as they live within us, yes?). It is bittersweet no matter what, but I wanted to linger in that sweetness now that we've passed the year anniversary of the last issue Lost Light.

Drift sometimes dreamt about what it might be like, to be settled in one place with a tight knit crew of friends again, like Gasket had tried to do but during better times, with better resources. Drift had the resources to take care of people now, if they let him. Rodimus didn't have it in him to settle down though, that's where he and Drift had differed. A home, some stability, a safe place to come back to at the end of the day which Drift could call his own without any measure of debate; that's what he had always wanted from the beginning. Decepticon bases had become his home for a while, and the Lost Light had as well, but with the war still raging, and then with their people still needing a better life in the aftermath, settling down was never an option for Drift. He still had work to do.

He never would have expected that when the chance to make a home and settle down finally came, he'd do it so thoroughly in the arms of another. 

Stability suited Ratchet too. After so many years of toil and watching friends die, losing patients, and suffering his own war wounds, the chance to plant his feet and finally push back after ages of just desperately trying to hold things together... It was one he was ready for, and Ratchet eagerly dove into it with a fervor he'd not had since he was young. And maybe a certain relationship with a certain swordmech helped him feel young again too, both of them, as he and Drift began a second life on New Cybertron.

By all fair comparisons to past history it was far from a Golden Age, but for the two of them, as they found their stride and started making a difference on this new world that needed them, it was a shining time of renaissance none the less. That's not to say it wasn't darkened but difficulty. Any new relationship had its trials, but finding how best to meet halfway was part of the adventure, and the resulting rhythm they achieved shone greater than any darkness that tried to darken it.

It had all started with the first clinic in a settlement of moderate size. The two of them had been traveling, exploring this new Cybertron and idly considering where they might make a home together. The settlement was small enough to lack a decent medical facility but big enough to warrant one given a recent influx of Lunarians, and when a mining accident meant a sudden influx of that need, Drift and Ratchet been ready to help. When the dust had settled and the bones of a hastily assembled triage clinic remained, they’d decided to stay until the workforce had recuperated. Residents came forth to thank them, and several of them that had risen to the occasion during the emergency asked for instruction, wanting to learn to better care for their fellow citizens.

It just made sense at that point to stay and convert the triage center into a real clinic, and teach the willing to staff it. And out of that effort grew the first clinic Ratchet and Drift ran together, with a spacious but humbly furnished flat they occupied upstairs. By no means was it their intended dream home, but in a way it suited them both better and they passed many a quiet morning overlooking the bustling street with people going about their daily lives without fearing loss of life, limb or starvation. And for them both, perhaps being needed was more important, more rewarding, than anything else. That was only the start though...

***

Twin blades rattled softly in their wall brackets beside the front door of the tidy flat as it closed, light winking off the Great Sword hung reverently between them as if greeting the resident newly come home.

"Well that was more productive than expected," Ratchet said, dropping his data tote on the floor at the door, not needing to wonder where his conjunx was given the enticing aroma coming from their kitchen.

"More productive and yet they still kept you late?" Drift asked lightly over his shoulder as he turned on the warmer for their evening energon, a mixture which had been prepared an hour prior and sat waiting for the medic to return home. 

"I _elected_ to stay late, thank you very much." Ratchet tossed back but his optics were fond as he strode into the kitchen, his satisfaction more than enough to override any weariness from a long day. Seeking fingers found Drift's scabbard-free waist and glided around to his striped front as Ratchet pressed against the speedster's back, helm nestled behind the twin black scoops on Drift's shoulders. "Why haven't you eaten? I told you not to wait for me."

"And we both know that I _always_ take your advice." Drift drawled, his mocking also fond, though it did earn him a poke in the belly as a result. "Hey now! You know I prefer to take meals with you rather than alone," Drift retorted, wiggling around in the circle of Ratchet's arms so he might employ his own hands to exact a certain amount of revenge, but Ratchet merely tugged him in closer, pressing more firmly to his back with that medic's strength that easily could heft a cybe larger than himself and haul him from a battlefield. Drift rather preferred other uses for that strength however, and it was reflected in his easy acquiescence, even though he had plenty of skill to break such a hold if he chose. 

"Fine, fine," Ratchet said in his own version of acquiescence, engine rumbling with a warmth that was more than just affectionate; Drift's closeness, the smell of his favored polish and the essence oils he used putting a little heat into the warmth of that affection. "I like eating with you too. You're good at making sure I don't just absentmindedly chug it all down."

"Which is far from healthy, as I was once told..." It took ages for Drift to break the habit of bolting his energon like it was going to be taken from him in the next moment, and Ratchet was not the only one to comment on it. (Rodimus had understood, as he had many things others hadn't about Drift.) Ratchet simply rumbled again against Drift's back, his dense weight heavy as he leaned on the speedster as if momentarily resting. Drift looked back at his love for a long moment as the room slowly filled with the growing scent of the special energon mix they'd jointly compromised on and come to enjoy. Drift wondered briefly if the weariness of the day was winning out over Ratchet's friskiness, if the fatigue was maybe something else. Drift had just opened his mouth to say something when the timer for the energon pinged, the soft but telltale noise jolting them both out of their intimate reverie.

Ratchet grumbled again, almost disgruntled, as if taking a nap while leaning against one's conjunx in the kitchen was a sacred practice not to interrupted. Drift's smile was affectionate as he gave the energon a stir and poured it into two steaming mugs, holding them up just out of Ratchet's reach.

"If you release me, we could eat while it's still warm and then retire early..." There was a suggestive ripple in Drift's field, one that implied 'retiring early' could have various implications with only some of them involving recharge. Ratchet's field rippled in answer and he pulled away, freeing the speedster with a renewed twinkle in his eye and following Drift to their table where a plate of freshly made cooper cakes was waiting for them. Ratchet plunked down into his seat, taking the energon into both hands and letting it warm his aching knuckles while he inhaled the aroma. Drift slid easily into the seat next to him, unencumbered by weapons as he was. The lack of swords was something that had taken years to get used to, but his choice for weapons not come between them while in their home was one he never regretted. It had been a mutual choice that, but one initiated by Drift, and though they both held an understanding that Drift still kept a dagger in his berthside table and Ratchet a pistol in his, there was also a mutual relief that such security measures had gone unused and the other clutter and minutia of life allowed to accumulate atop them in the drawers. 

"How did the new branch opening go?" Drift asked, sipping his energon to test the temperature.

"Splendid," Ratchet said, his elation clear even through the gruffness. "The turn-out was bigger than I expected. New Praxus was definitely in dire need of this clinic and the volunteer staff had some very capable people, but once it was all over, several donors and investors came forward with contributions and bids for new locations."

Drift beamed but there was a smugness in his grin too. "See? I told you the more we spread this over new Cybertron them more they will see what we're trying to do."

Ratchet's grin was soft this time, none of their usual catty banter in his reply. "Yeah. But I think I have my foremost donor to thank for that."

"Hey now, I only funded the first clinic! The rest--Pax Memorial, the New Rodion Dispensary, and every clinic that came after it---that was all you! You say you hate this administration stuff, but you're _good_ at it." Drift reached out and gave Ratchet's arm a little shove. He knew it had been a joint effort, a mutual endeavor to open their first little clinic and begin the veterans support group, and later a mutual choice to take it to the next level when demand had risen too high to handle on their own. The growth after that had been solely due to this world's need for decent medical facilities and the professionals to staff them. With the Functionist regime lifted, the natives were slowly embracing choosing their own vocations.

"I can't help it if this Cybertron doesn't know how to take care of itself!?" Ratchet huffed, both teasing and exasperated all at once. But then the corner of his mouth quirked warmly. "Wouldn't have done it without you honestly."

"Now Ratty, you know I would have donated even if we weren't--"

"That's not what I meant," Ratchet insisted softly, his gaze meaningful on Drift, the last of the steam curling up from his evening meal.

"Oh." Drift said, optics flickering softly, the cup in his hand feeling small and their world feeling huge. "You mean...?"

"Without you, I never would gone past this clinic, right here." Ratchet finished for him. "Never would have dreamed the big dream to do more. Probably would have toiled away here fixing random strangers until I dropped dead, and for no reason other than because it was what I designed to do. You helped me see that there could be more."

Drift was left speechless, optics gone soft, and on his mouth had risen a smile that was both sweet and somewhat bashful. His optics shaded a subtly warm color, the light of the setting sun liming the swordmech's white armor with a soft, golden glow. It was a stunning image, and Ratchet just sat there in the quiet of the evening, the clinic below winding down and the street traffic outside dwindling, the soft conversation of the occasional pedestrian duo a quiet murmur in the distance. He took it all in with Drift in the center of it, touched by that golden glow that was turning rosy as the sun set, the hard lines of war softened by his spark-touched smile, and Ratchet found himself smiling back at Drift.

"Isn't it early for bed?" Ratchet asked suddenly, remembering Drift's earlier words.

"Oh? Uh--" Drift said, startled out of the quiet moment by the topic change. "I need to be at the temple before first light tomorrow, there's a new group of initiates who chose the blade wavelength and I need to be there to begin their training. And of course, then there's the support group that meets later..."

Something in Ratchet's optics sparked; that friskiness rekindled. He pushed up from his chair, downed the rest of his dinner in three gulps and held out a hand.

Drift's words trailed off but his surprise lasted only a second longer, thoughts of the morrow swept away as his field swelled with interest, optics gaining a sultry shade as he slid his hand into Ratchet's and tugged him toward the berth room.

"Early to bed it is then..." Drift said in a voice gone low, knowing there was no 'retiring' to be done any time soon. Ratchet scooped up the plate of copper cakes and followed after arm and arm, the light of his optics snapping mischievously. Perhaps the earlier fatigue was a simple need for refueling, easily cured. Drift swept those worries from his mind and focused on better, more enjoyable things as they closed the berthroom door.

***  


Drift was tried. But even after all the doctor's appointments, the messages to friends and colleagues, the administrative affairs and household chores, Drift knew his exhaustion did not even compare to Ratchet's.

It had all changed so swiftly, one day their normal routine, a good day even, and then next their life was turned entirely upside when Ratchet collapsed. It wasn't a question of getting good medical care. Medical professionals, advocates and supporters came out of the steelwork to see to Ratchet's care. First Aid's startling diagnosis could not be denied however. Ratchet had sat, dumbstruck, on the circuit slab, and then huffed a gruff laugh and a curse that had the grace to at least be a little sheepish. _Nobody but me would survive 4 million years of war only to work myself to death_.

Drift hadn't smiled. Or laughed.

Today, as Drift pushed their front door open, one hand hovering near Ratchet's back as the elder mech made his way through the door, shoulders slumped but chevroned helm held high, Drift felt the weight of that reality in ways he couldn't have that first day.

"I'm glad that's done." Ratchet gusted and lowered himself into a chair at the table where they'd shared so many meals, but not so many more. 

Drift was quiet, solemn in a way he hadn't been since their bonding, holding strong for his conjunx even though he felt as if he were about to fall apart on the inside. He removed his peace-tied swords--as they always were when he went to medical facilities--and hung them gently in their brackets by the door. Drift was glad it was done as well; thinking about his partner in terms of his various parts, and those parts going their separate ways once the life was gone from them was not something Drift wanted to linger on. The cause was good, and one he approved of, as much as one could considering the implications, but relish it he would not.

Still, it seemed to take a weight off Ratchet's shoulders having all the arrangements made, the business taken care off, all save one task. Drift didn't want to talk about the memorial ceremony though, as much he enjoyed ceremonies--a chance to dress up and be fancy but with good reason--so instead he moved into the kitchen as the waning light of the day streamed into the windows of their less-than-tidy flat. 

"The initiates brought by some food again--Primus I can't call them that anymore, can I?--do you want me to warm some up or synth something fresh?" Drift asked, shuffling dirty dishes and glasses in the sink and trying tame some of the chaos there just hadn't been the time and energy to address.

"Just warmed is fine, you've done enough today." Ratchet waved a dismissive hand, poking at a datapad while he leaned an elbow on the table. "They're a good bunch, aren't they?"

Drift nodded as he warmed the energon, thick with the supplements that Ratchet needed to make the most of his time left. "They are. I'm proud of them honestly."

It was a welcome change of subject, as was the task of bringing food to the table, and shifting around the accumulated clutter to make space on the table while they had their evening meal. Drift set the steaming mug down in front of Ratchet, smiling as he did so, and sat with his own mug in both hands, elbows propped on the table.

"The clinic interns downstairs offered to come up and help around the house. I told them I'd talk to you about it first."

"When was that?" Ratchet asked, looking up from the datapad he was absorbed in.

"Yesterday, early afternoon I guess. You were recharging and I didn't want to wake you." Ratchet had been doing more and more of that these days, not that there was much choice in the matter given the weakness of his spark.

Ratchet made a thoughtful noise as he sipped his energon, mouth turning slightly at the flavor of the supplements under all the spice. "Maybe this weekend? While you're at the temple?"

"Ratty, no, I should be here in case they need he--"

" _Drift_. The Convocation is important. I know you want to be there. And they want to help. Let them."

Drift looked back at Ratchet, a strut deep fondness rising in him mixed with a touch of exasperation.

"Okay," he finally relented, "But only under the condition that you take your own advice finally." Drift finished somewhat sternly, but with a flick in his field that was also teasing. It'd gotten easier as time went on, to tease Ratchet about his ability to take care of everyone but himself. 

"Fair enough," Ratchet said gruffly, his own optics looking warmly upon his conjunx. "I that case, I need your help. Right now."

"Oh?" Drift said, nearing the bottom of his own mug of energon, and looking at the datapad Ratchet was handing him.

"There's still planning to do." Ratchet continued, and when Drift made a face he chuckled, putting down the datapad and poking his beloved in the arm. "Come on. It won't be so bad. I figure if I became known as the 'Party Ambulance' soon after coming into this world, I might as well go out that way too."

Drift gawked at Ratchet even as he made the air quotes around his old nickname, but having only heard stories of Ratchet's early days, Drift was struggling with resolving that visual.

"Erm. Ratchet. I love it but are you sure it's, you know, decent? I mean by all accounts it sounds positively _indecent_ , especially if Whirl and Rodimus come..."

Ratchet laughed at that, full throated and bawdy, like he used to, and it didn't stop even when his vocalizer got gravely with a cough.

"As much as I would approve of an orgy as a celebration of life," he rasped, voice still thick with humor. "Let's not go _that_ far. No one needs to suffer Whirl's version of a hand job."

Drift laughed despite himself, knowing full well how creative the copter could get thanks to Whirl's tendency to offer too much information at the slightest opportunity. He dragged a hand over his face but the smile persisted, and maybe the gesture was an attempt to wipe away the worry instead. It was a strange twist of events, Ratchet seeking the positive spin on things and Drift needing to follow that example to pull himself away from the grimmer outlook.

"So what are you proposing then?"

"There's a few notes in there," Ratchet gestured to the datapad. "I generally don't give a honk about all this ceremony scrap but they'll want it and you're way better at this stuff than I am."

"Well if we go by specialist tradition, I could inscribe a memorial stone, since there's no coffin..." Drift picked up the datapad despite his reluctance, and flipped through the notes in the pad.

Ratchet made a thoughtful noise over the rim of his mug. "Too fancy. For me anyway. But you... yes. That's part of your traditions, right, with the face paint and such?" Ratchet nodded as the idea solidified. "You should wear that story, of our life. If they're to see it I want it on the living embodiment, not the dead one..."

"Ratchet...." Drift's voice had gone soft, only half listening. "You already have here what you want inscribed on your memorial..." Drift looked up and met Ratchet's optics, something deep shifting in his own.

" _Without love there is no meaning._ "

Ratchet looked away a moment, gruffly caught out, but he couldn't refuse Drift's searching optics for long. "It's true! And we all need the reminder. All of us. We forgot it for too long."

"Ratty..." Drift said again, voice and optics brimming with affection. Ratchet smiled despite himself, and then coughed around the lump in his throat.

"Anyway. We'll do the usual as is expected, but following the memorial I want a party, and a _good_ one. Don't skimp or be modest either. I don't know who or how many will come, but if any of the old crew shows, you all should spend some time together." 

Drift nodded, warming to the idea and feeling determined. "Might be hard, we're all so scattered, but worth the try." Ratchet had always been worth the try, and Drift wouldn't cease trying now just because Ratchet's end was near. 

"And if Rodimus _does_ make it, you take care of that kid." Ratchet said firmly, fond worry turning him stern. "I didn't like the look of him last time he was here. Have you heard from him recently?"

"No..." Drift shook his helm, "They're still rebuilding and resyncing all the interspace relays into a more unified system, some of that Con tech is old. Last I heard he was couriering messages out in the black and was only getting messages every few months."

"Be weird for him to miss a good party." Ratchet quipped. 

"True," Drift agreed, knowing that his best friend would come just to see Ratchet, party or no. "Maybe some of them are on their way already? Be nice if they could see you before..."

"Hush, you," Ratchet said quietly, and this time Ratchet's nudge was as meaningful as it was flirtatious, his hand lingering on Drift's arm. "Don't end me so soon. I've got other business with you tonight."

"What--?" Drift said, thoughts of the party and the future ceremony dropping from his mind.

Ratchet had that look again, and though Drift hated the dim way Ratchet's optics glowed these days, they were as sharp as ever and there was a heat behind them now that made Drift ache for better days. 

"But Ratchet... First Aid said--"

"To hell with what First Aid said, I know what I'm doing! I don't have to overload to have a good time."

"HA-ah!" Drift gusted a laugh, optics rolling gently skyward as the earlier humor wedged its way back into his spark, as stubborn as both mechs in the room. "You sure? That's definitely not what you said the last time I edged you...."

"Ah- _HEM_. I know what I want and what I handle," Ratchet said sternly, pounding a fist on the table and sitting up to his full height. "Just make sweet love to me idiot, no excuses."

Drift couldn't hold back the laugh that time and it bubbled up warmer than ever, helping to release some of the intense emotion that was welling up inside him. He finished his energon, caring little that it had gone cold and sludge-like, and took Ratchet's hand, tucking it over his arm.

"Well if you insist, old man."

Ratchet finished off his own energon, mouth turning at the pasty sludge at the bottom that was all the nutrients he needed and none of the flavor. 

"Gah. Let's go, I'm ready to taste something sweeter."

Drift's grin was lewd as they shifted into the berth room, caring little for open doors or bright windows or the fact that there might be a few staff downstairs working late. There was no world outside of this now, its neediness shunted to the side while they stole back some joy from the brink of life.

"I had thought to thoroughly spoil _you_ , but you are the mech of the hour, you call the shots."

"Good," Ratchet said as he settled on the berth, tugging Drift along with him. "Now sit on my face."

"So romantic!" Drift laughed as he allowed himself to be tugged downward, falling gracefully over Ratchet's sturdier frame and grinning into the warmth of Ratchet's face before pressing their lips together in a kiss that lingered long past the taste of their evening meal, swept away by questing tongues, tender lips and loving sighs, the slow, subtle ease of it unhurried and deep. Drift purred into Ratchet's mouth, his cravings that had been weighed down by so much stress and fear now rising to the surface with a gentle but persuasive heat. It warmed him, the feel of their plating pressed against each other, their fields wefting together with easy, well-practiced grace.

"I could lay here and kiss you all day-- _oh!_ " Drift's purred response broke the kiss and was cut off by a saucy squeeze to his aft, making his pelvic span buck forward, sliding their panels against each other. "Haha, okay. I get the message, greedy bastard."

Drift's grin was broad as he stole one more indulgent kiss before shifting to kneel on the berth, making space for Ratchet as he scooted downward between Drift's splayed knees. Finding space around Ratchet's shoulder kibble is something Drift accomplished with practiced ease, the heat in their optics meeting and mingling over the length of Drift's chassis. Ratchet's soft grin shifted to press a kiss against Drift's interface panel, already warm with the beginnings of arousal, causing Drift to suck air in through his vents, optics keenly set upon Ratchet's face. 

The next kiss or three coaxed Drift's panel open, sections folding away to revel both covers already blushed with heat. It only took one long stroke of Ratchet's tongue for the valve cover to spiral open, petals curling outwardly and tucking away to form the outer lips, framing the aroused inner folds that plumped when exposed to open air. Ratchet greeted the shining anterior node first, another reverent kiss with the barest flick of a tongue. Drift's vents huffed warm air as his hands settled on Ratchet's pauldrons to support himself, mouth parted as he took in the sensations. Heat rose in his face too, as Ratchet's reverent kisses traveled inward, the slow, intent worship of Ratchet's mouth and the intense gaze of his optics on Drift's face doing _things_ within Drift's spark, a fullness over taking him that had nothing to do with his physical body.

"Ratchet, oh..." Drift whispered, power stolen from his vocalizer as Ratchet's tongue delved deeper, the urge to rock his hips against Ratchet's mouth rising in demand. The plush give of Ratchet's shoulder tires pressed firmly into Drift's calves as Ratchet pitched up to lick deeper, lathing Drift open to a chorus of moans and gasps that slowly grew in volume. "Nyyyaaah!"

A smug laugh pressed warmly into the crux of Drift's hip and pelvis, Ratchet's optics sparking with mischief. Drift's engines sputtered, half laugh, half protest, and a brow ridge arched as he looked down at his conjunx. 

"Is it your turn to edge me?" Drift asked pointedly, to which Ratchet merely grinned harder against Drift's anterior node, mouth vently cooly over the dense senor cluster.

"Thought had crossed my mind." Ratchet said, tongue flicking over the node again with more speed and force this time, both threat and promise.

"Nnnuuhh," Drift's commentary was lost in the spiral of pleasure that made his body twist, Ratchet's fingers and tongue knowing every sensitive seam and crevice and node as he worked Drift over slowly, unconcerned for the climax save not reaching it too soon. Drift caught his bottom lip beneath a small fang, tiny twitches shivering his loosely held plating as he relished the pleasure being dolled out. Just as his moans grew stronger Ratchet pulled back again, deep friction shifting to worshipful kisses again.

Drift huffed of the tension from another near overload, looking down at his conjunx with a telling expression.

"Don't wear me out too much... I've still got..." he panted, "that sweet lovemaking to do remember?" 

Ratchet had far from forgotten his initial request, but at the reminder, his grip on Drift's hips dragged the speedster down, sealing the slick, dripping valve over Ratchet's mouth and rumbling out his response, a low throaty thing that needed no intelligible words to communicate intent. Gone was the slow, measured pace and instead came a driving, forceful intention to see Drift come undone. It didn't take long, the previous slow, stealthy build of charge peeking quickly, the snap of overload almost taking Drift by surprise. The bright release of electrons cascaded over Drift's body and tingled around Ratchet's helm, deeply buried as it was between Drift's thighs as he rode out the ebbing waves of pleasure.

Steam wafted slowly from Drift's vents, curling up from the soft gape of his mouth as he slumped and looked down at Ratchet again, gaze rosy with love and satisfaction. Ratchet's smile was nothing but warm and gratified now, the dull glow of this optics enlivened by vicarious pleasures.

"Gonna miss that..." Drift said and there was no sadness in it, just a bittersweet sort of joy that he had the opportunity to be as gifted by his partner has he's been these past centuries.

"Thought you wouldn't mind a refresher," Ratchet said as Drift slid down his body to rest in the cradle made by the relaxed splay of Ratchet's thighs. "I sure didn't."

Drift mumbled some sort of affirmative as he scooted down and landed gingerly on Ratchet's chestplate, placing soft, lazy kisses over the windscreen, throat and chin, tongue flicking over the generous slick of his own fluids before kissing Ratchet's mouth with all the gratitude in his being. Drift's engine purred in the afterglow, the slow slide of their slicked lips somewhat sloppy, the reassuring pulse of Ratchet's spark felt--still--beneath the press of Drift's palm to the fogged windscreen.

Drift couldn't say how long those lazy kisses lasted, how many nuzzles to cheek and chin, licks to Drift's audial or nips to Ratchet's throat had passed before the heat behind Drift's spike cover could undeniably be felt against Ratchet's pelvic girdle. Now it was Drift's opportunity to worship Ratchet's body, hands free to wander as he subtly pinned the medic to the berth with his weight. They found their way to Ratchet's array, the panels whispering open without a request needing to be made. Drift's deft fingers circled the sensitive covers until the equipment within was revealed, fingers dragging upwards through the slit of Ratchet's valve, over the node and circling the spike's base. 

"This all right?" Drift asked, keenly focused on the flicker of Ratchet's optics, knowing now the difference between a healthy flicker and one that isn't so much. Ratchet grunted his confirmation, squirming slightly under Drift's weight, mouth gently gaped as his hips tipped up into the attention of Drift's hands. 

"More than......" Ratchet said, pressing his face into Drift's neck as Drift's fingers worked slowly deeper, a shiver passing through Ratchet's sturdy frame as if it might slowly shake him apart. The gentle massage of those fingers wandered from the inner node ring of Ratchet's heavily slick valve to the puffed microplating of Ratchet's thick spike. 

"Drift..." Ratchet said thickly through the subtle haze of pleasure as Drift's fingers scissored inside him, "Please..."

Nothing more needed to be asked, and Drift drew his fingers out of the gently dripping valve, fingers trailing upwards over Ratchet's spike. The forward slide of Drift's knees spread Ratchet thigh's open further, spilling lubricant from the slight gape of his valve, and click-whisper of Drift's spike releasing was unmistakable, pressurizing hot and thick to hang in the space between their bodies, heavy with desire. 

"Tell me if it's too much," Drift said, necessary only for his own peace of mind because Ratchet had _always_ been good at speaking his mind. Drift got a nod anyway as Ratchet's arms encircled his neck, precise fingers working into well known holds on Drift's back. Drift ran his hand over his own spike, the tiny sparkling beads of clear lubricant refracting his biolights now smearing under the stroke of his palm, slicking his spike clear to the head. Then he settled between Ratchet's thighs, their spikes sliding against each other as he drew his hips down, and the heat of Ratchet's valve next to greet him. Drift's engine rumbled as the lower ridge of of his spike's length dragged through the outer folds of Ratchet's valve, parting them and spilling more slick heat against already eager sensor nodes. Despite the opportunity that presented itself here, Drift didn't indulged in any sort of teasing revenge. Instead his aim was true, hips pulling back and heavy spike falling knowingly in line with Ratchet's entrance. Drift's optics are bright and flexing with depth of emotion, falling deep with Ratchet's as he pressed into that heat, spreading Ratchet open, filling him up, waking rings of sensor nodes inch by inch, as he sought the ceiling node of Ratchet's valve.

"Ahh, Drift..." Ratchet moaned through a roughened vocalizer, tipping his hips up to take in a little more of Drift's length, their pelvic blocks pressing tightly close, optics locked together as their bodies were. Pleasure shivered through Drift's body as he bottomed out, holding himself there are Ratchet adjusted.

"Good?" Drift asked, knowing full well given the swell of Ratchet's field but asking none the less. He rocked his hips against Ratchet, gently, a few short strokes to feel the tingle of friction deep within that clutching valve. Then he drew in a deep ventilation, the girth of his spike expanding within Ratchet's confines as tiny plates on the surface puffed up, micromesh swelling with arousal. 

"Ah Primus... Frag!" cursed Ratchet in answer.

Drift snickered softly, and Ratchet gave him an accusatory look for breaking the moment.

"Did I hear you say 'Primus'!?" Drift asked with as much innocence as he could muster while being spike deep in his lover.

"Hush you!" Ratchet barked, "You're a bad influence!!" 

Drift laughed again, letting it go, knowing that Ratchet's influence had wound its way into Drift's habits just as a few of Drift's had into Ratchet's. It's with a mirthful grin that he starts the slow roll of his hips, staying seated deep but softly grinding against Ratchet's ceiling and anterior node. The pace was slow and savoring, no rush to the final climax (because finality is not welcome here, now), but simply enjoy the rich pleasure of individual nodes coming alight with sensation. The room filled with the soft sounds of physical love, and Drift soon let his elbows give way, settling on Ratchet's front with tiny fangs grazing his bared throat, one arm hooking around a lifted knee while the other caressed the side of Ratchet's face. 

When it became too much, Drift eased off at Ratchet's wordless signal, the twining of their fields so thick that words were barely necessary. He left off attention to both nodes and shifted to long, slow, deep strokes in and out of Ratchet's valve, enough to draw and give pleasure but not so little as to tease. They pushed through into the night this way, trading kisses and soft affirmations and less-then-gentle nips, until their plating fuzzed with such intensely warm gratification there seemed no end to it, and their sparks a mutual chorus of gratitude for one final chance at shared intimacy.

When Ratchet's optics shaded towards pale joy, weary but satisfied, Drift withdrew and rolled gently to curl against Ratchet's side, their plating so warm as to not tell one from the other, fields fuzzing with a deep togetherness they rarely had the time to feel in as a profound way as this. Their legs tangled as Drift pressed close, his spike still stiff and pressed against Ratchet's thigh, but Drift's field sang with gratitude and satisfaction.

"You all right?" Ratchet echoed Drift's earlier question, and Drift purred contently in response.

"Never better."

"You want my hand or my mouth? There's no way I'm moving but I still want to taste the rest of you..." 

"Mmmmmm..." Drift purred louder this time, engine deep, and his spike twitched heavily against Ratchet's thigh at the thought of climbing atop the medic's chest and sinking deep into that talented and willing mouth. The rest of Drift though, was heavy with an emotional kind of satisfaction, not wanting to part with the fierce cling of his body against Ratchet's. "'m comfy. Can get me off later. Or I can and you can watch..."

Drift cuddled closer, hand splaying over Ratchet's windscreen again, seeking out and finding the very subtle signs of the spark living below. Ratchet grew quiet, his field pensive for a moment, the way it did when he was remembering or contemplating. Drift's optics shifted, finding Ratchet's again.

"Do you remember," Ratchet began, "When I told you about Luna-1?"

A cold shiver that was not fear rippled through Drift's field, and Drift merely nodded, trying not to think about the terrible circumstances that led him to hate Pharma unquestioningly, and to dropping the use of Ratchet's former nickname--'Ratch'--knowing that Pharma had coined it.

"Is that why...is that why don't ask me about spark merging anymore?" Ratchet queried.

That chill faded as fast as it was born, replaced with a wary but curious confusion. Drift's optics flickered, and he flustered a little.

"I-- Well---" Drift rolled a shoulder, "Yeah. Mostly. I mean...I know that it's not comfortable for you so..."

"That doesn't mean it _couldn't_ be," Ratchet said and it took a long moment before Drift understood, realizing that the soft regret in Ratchet's field was because he'd denied Drift an intimacy he'd always wanted and had now, perhaps, waited too long to change his mind.

"But Ratty...! That's probably more dangerous than overloads! Unless--" Drift posted up on a elbow, "Unless you think it would help? Could we maybe--"

"Hey, hey," Ratchet pressed palms to either side of Drift's face, bringing him in for a solid kiss, fondly exasperated by this dreamer he'd married. "There's no magical solution and I'm not letting you sacrifice part of yourself to heal me."

"But Ratchet. Remember how Cyclonus saved Tailgate? Maybe we could--"

"Oh, you are _not_ suggesting you stab me with that giant magical sword of yours. I'm perfectly happy with the number of times you've stuck things into me today, thank you."

Drift's protest dissolved into a giggle, the beatific atmosphere from earlier returning. "Okay fine, no magical sword stabbing. But...why do you ask?"

Ratchet's arms returned to coil around Drift's neck, this time using him as an anchor to roll onto his side, meeting Drift halfway, so they could lie together chest to chest.

"Because I want to share what I can...." Ratchet said, voice unusually thick with emotion, tucking in against Drift's neck. Drift's optics flickered again as his processor stalled, but the hissing whisper of a transformation seam splitting apart in Ratchet's windscreen gave Drift an inkling, the pieces tucking away to reveal the old mech's chamber, marked forever by Pharma's obsessed attentions. The light that poured forth was not as strong as it should be, but it's warmer than ever, seeded with love and a desire to share it. 

"Oh....." Drift said a little breathlessly, lips pressing against the curve of Ratchet's helm as he shivered in that light, fingers creeping up to gently stroke along the edges of the open windscreen. "M-may I...?"

Ratchet's nod was wordless but his field wove itself deeper into Drift's, firm tendrils with a near death grip. Drift embraced it, a net to catch the medic should he lose his grip and fall. Drift's fingers worked slowly inward, optics glancing down not only to see the light of Ratchet's spark safely behind its chamber window, but also to trace his fingertips slowly inward, over complex components until they brushed over the chamber itself. Ratchet shuddered hard against him and Drift's fingers pulled away, returning when there was no request to stop, his exploration more slow and gentle than he ever thought his violence-prone hands were capable of. 

The meridian of Drift's own chestplate slowly appeared and the heavy armor plates shifted away, the more vivid light of his spark shining brightly into the dark of the room. Drift used to have a hesitation about this, feeling his inner self was too ugly, too violent, to be attractive to anyone. Rodimus had shown him differently, but then the other speedster had always been accepting of Drift's past. Ratchet had been another question altogether, and though the medic had seen and even handled Drift's chamber more than once for medical reasons, the notion of being intimately asked to bare himself was intense.

And yet that's what Ratchet's questing fingers had done, roaming over Drift's chestplate until it had opened, and Ratchet pulled away from the sanctuary of Drift's neck to let that spark light fall upon his face. And then his optics finally lifted to Drift's face as forged fingertips with more sensitivity than most ghosted over the surface of Drift's chamber, not shying away from the hollow of the Decepticon brand scar, or the slash mark the shape of Drift's own sword, but tenderly caressing the whole and accepting all parts. Drift's spark swelled in reaction, ever-thankful that they'd overcome their differences and reached this harmony, one that let them love the best of each other and forgive the worst. Brightness washed over the room as the corona of Drift's spark expanded, swelling with love, and the air felt like it was stolen from the room as it brushed against the corona of Ratchet's. Drift's gasp held him in that moment, the sound from his vocalizer an unintelligible one, soft with wonder and something else too complex to name. He seemed to crest a different climax in that moment, and he dipped his head in to catch Ratchet's mouth in a kiss, arms circling Ratchet to press their chests together, with only the sensitive metal and tiny window of their chambers separating them, no armor or dampeners to impede it. It wasn't anything like a true spark merge, naked and entwined and pulsing together with a joint rhythm, but for Drift it was enough.

They stay entwined like that for some time into the night, the light of their sparks outshining the brightest star in the night sky, awarded the deepest embrace when there was far too much fear of letting go. 

*** 

It was on a similar starry night that Drift bid formal farewell to his conjunx, with hundreds in attendance. It bouyed his heavy spark to see so many familiar faces, though he dared not make optic contact with any of his former Lost Light crewmates lest he lose his composure, even though the urge to search for the cherished face of his best friend was strong. Some of the cursive glyphs that curled over his plating had been placed there by Ratchet himself, one of his last gestures before the great transition had claimed him.

They 'did the usual' as Ratchet had instructed, but when the traditional memorial was over Drift made certain the closest individuals stayed, for a celebration of Ratchet's life required the ones most deeply involved in it. It was the party to end all parties, subdued in some ways, with stories shared and toasts made, and raucous during others, with gawdy decorations and dancing and invitations and reunions to draw distanced friends back together.

Drift was feeling the camaraderie, lighter on his feet than he had been in many a day since the diagnosis, but in this moment he was taking a quiet moment away from the bustle of the crowd to look out over the expanse of Rivet's field. Away from bright lights and music Drifts optics adjusted, and there, waiting in the sky was the best party decor he could have asked for: a rare spectrum of light shimmering in the sky, an aurora of solar wind that made waves of color shimmer across the skyline. It was breath-taking, and Drift was so caught up in the awe of it he didn't hear the footsteps behind him.

"That's a sign, isn't?" Rodimus offered as he approached, the rest of the attendees slowly filtering out as the wake wound down behind them. "I admit I wasn't great at paying attention during those lessons, but I remember some of it...." 

Drift felt himself smile for the first time in a week. "Yeah. Yeah it is. And a good one too."

"Something about Primus, right?" Rodimus took up a spot next to his best friend, looking up at the rainbow of color in the sky.

"Many in spectralist tradition feel that's when his gaze is actively upon us, watching over us." Drift offered a small nod. "But in there's another tradition, less well known...." 

Drift stole a glance at Rodimus, but in reality it was him buying time, working around the heaviness in his vocalizer that was tempted arise. 

"In this context it's not Primus but our loved ones, our family and friends, looking down and watching over us, celebrating the...the transition of life with us so we do not feel _alone_." The last came out in a hurried gust, as if Drift needed to push the words before they tumbled and fell into broken pieces. 

Rodimus's face was pensive as he looked up into the sky, looking like a herald of that loneliness that Drift would be in the midst of soon as well.

"What do you think they think of us?" Rodimus said, an idle question to fill a gap in conversation when there were too many other more relevant, more sensitive, things to say.

Drift looked up, knowing, believing, what Ratchet would be thinking right now (other than being disgruntled over his loss of the afterlife argument), and Drift remembered too, Ratchet's request that day at the table.

"I think they'd want us to be happy. In fact, I know it."

It looked like such a notion was altogether out of Rodimus's reach in that moment, and Drift could sense that he'd been drinking again, that he was putting on the best face he could. It made Drift think about the others, supposedly off gallivanting in some parallel universe, presuming their desperate gambit on the Lost Light had worked.

"I don't know what the others did, in that other universe of theirs. But this life is ours to live. And I..." Drift took Rodimus's hand, "I still want to live part of it with you. So.... _stay_ , if you can...at least for a little while."

Drift smiled at him, hope clear in his optics as the cape stirred quietly around his ankle tires. And Rodimus looked back at him, something like a smile trying to find its way onto his face, and didn't say no.

**Author's Note:**

> I spontaneously wrote this thing in 4 days and am probably rusty with characters, tense, and other things, but I hope you enjoyed it. Comments, as ever, are welcome.


End file.
